Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Snow for Amy in Kansas December 4, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 4:47 PM
Tags: , , , , ,

The snowy scene by my house this morning after an eight-inch snowfall.

Dear Amy,

You aren’t in Minnesota any more. As you’re well aware, you are in Kansas.

I’m sorry to hear that you are unhappy about the lack of snow there. I wish I could lead you down the yellow brick road to snowy Minnesota, where Christmas music sounds much more holiday-ish than in barren Kansas.

But I possess no special powers to transport you here.

So I will bring the snow to you via the magic of the internet.

Imagine the 25-degree temp, which will dip lower tonight. Imagine snow piles and icy sidewalks and sloppy, slippery roadways.

Now, are you still feeling so melancholy about the 50-degree temperatures and the lack of snow in Kansas?

Happy December, dear Amy, from southern Minnesota!

Love,

Your Other Mom

 

Faribault police on patrol Saturday morning along my street.

A neighbor down the street opens his driveway after the snowstorm.

Plow trucks were out and about and busy Saturday morning.

My husband sheered a bolt off in the snowblower just as he finished clearing the sidewalk Saturday morning.

Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Red in the morning December 3, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 6:06 PM
Tags: , , , , ,

 

Sunrise, December 3, 2010, Faribault, Minnesota

MY HUSBAND ALERTED ME to the beautiful sunrise this morning when he came to kiss me goodbye. I snapped up the shade in my office, gave him a hurried peck, and grabbed my camera, all the while explaining that I was sorry but I had to get a photo before the red sky disappeared.

I was right in not waiting, because, just like that, the red faded into the grayness of the day.

“Red at night, sailors’ delight. Red in the morning, sailors take warning.”

That’s holding true here today in Faribault. Around noon, light snow began falling. As the afternoon advanced, the snowfall got heavier and heavier, piling into inches. Flakes are still falling strong and steady on this day of the red sky morning.

Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Too much winter already December 2, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 11:48 AM
Tags: , , , , , ,

Now, would you call this recently-photographed scene a winter or fall landscape?

I HATE TO ADMIT THIS already, especially since the calendar just flipped to December. But I am tired of winter.

Technically, though, I should state that I am tired of fall given winter does not officially begin until December 21. Really? Looking outside my office window, I see snow and bare trees, pretty much a winter landscape if you ask me.

A frosty view of the winter sunrise through my home office window. We're getting five new windows soon, which should make the house a bit more cozy.

The calendar says otherwise.

For me, though, winter arrives when I find myself snuggling under a warm lap throw while sitting at my computer, watching TV, reading a book and, yes, even while eating dinner or supper. (Note that I did not say “lunch or dinner” per deference to my rural roots.)

I wrongly assumed that installation of a new furnace last year would banish cold air from our house and allow me to permanently stash the pile of wool and fleece throws in the back corner of the closet. Uh, uh.

If I notched the thermostat beyond 67 degrees, I suppose I would feel warmer. But I am stubborn and frugal and I have a strong history of fending off the cold via methods other than cranking up the heat.

I grew up in a drafty old farmhouse where, every winter, the foundation was first wrapped in brown paper and then snuggled with straw bales. The house was heated by an oil-burning stove in the living room. That stove didn’t exactly provide much warmth for “the girls'” upstairs, west-facing bedroom, which endured the brunt of the unrelenting prairie winds.

My sister burned her behind on that stove once when she got a little too close while warming up after her weekly Saturday night bath. (She didn’t tell anyone until the burn festered.) Yes, we took baths only once a week, in a tin tub hauled into the kitchen. In the winter Mom turned on the oven and opened the door, either to keep us warm or to keep the bathwater from freezing, I’m not sure.

After pondering those childhood days, I have to wonder now why I’m complaining about winter. Really, I don’t have it so bad—no tin tub, no oil-burning stove to light with a farmer match, no bales stacked around the house, no plastic covering storm windows…

If I really, really want to, I can bump the thermostat up a few degrees.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Winter storm on the prairie December 1, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 11:59 AM
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Snow blows across the driveway on the farm where I grew up near Vesta.

WHEN I HEARD yesterday of five-foot snowdrifts in the Springfield area, west of New Ulm, I simply had to get my hands on some photos from southwestern Minnesota. Honestly, unless you’ve lived on the flat, open, wind-swept prairie, you really can’t comprehend the ferocity of a Minnesota winter.

In that part of the state, November exited with a strong winter storm that whipped snow into hard, sculpted drifts, made roads nearly impassable if not impassable and closed schools on Monday and Tuesday.

Snowdrifts, some six feet high, sculpted around the grove and bins on the home place.

Although I have not lived on the prairie for nearly four decades, memories of winters there are as fresh as the five, up to 10, inches of snow that fell there.

I won’t tell you that I walked uphill two miles to school in snowdrifts eight feet deep. But I will tell you that when I attended junior high school in Redwood Falls some 20 miles from my farm home, we had a difficult time getting to school one winter. Because of all the snow and poor road conditions, buses would not make their rural routes. One bus left the cafe in my hometown of Vesta each morning bound for Redwood Falls. If you could get into town, then you could go to school. For my brother and me, that journey into Vesta was via an open cab John Deere tractor driven one mile down a county road by our dad. After school he would drive back in to town and bring us home.

I also recall during high school once riding home on a single school bus crammed with students who would normally fill two buses. The driver opted to take all of the Vesta area kids to Vesta (not home) in one bus as weather conditions were so poor. The bus crept along the highway with one student standing just inside the open bus door guiding the driver in near-visibility conditions.

The often brutal winters on the prairie also necessitated designated “snow homes,” homes in town where country kids could stay if snow stranded them in town. Although I had snow homes every year from junior high until I graduated in 1974, I never once had to stay at one. My siblings did.

Even though the prairie winters were harsh, as a kid, I loved winter. Rock-hard snowdrifts that circled the granary and the house and the barn and the snow piles formed by my dad with the bucket of his John Deere tractor became treacherous mountains to explore. We drove our imaginary dog sleds there, played King of the Mountain, dug snow tunnels, slid in our sleds…

Winters were fun back then.

Wind-whipped snow drifts around the abandoned milkhouse and silo.

I’m certain, though, for my parents, winter must have been a lot of hard work—pushing all that snow from the driveway and yard to open a path for the milk truck, thawing frozen drinking cups and a frozen gutter cleaner, emptying the pot that served as our bathroom in the cold front porch…

All of these memories rushed back as I viewed the photos my niece Hillary took of this recent winter storm in southwestern Minnesota. Her images are from the farm where I grew up, the place of sweet memories and of long, cold, harsh winters.

Snow began falling Monday afternoon in the Vesta area, causing low visibility and poor driving conditions as snow covered roadways, according to my niece.

Snow swirled into drifts in the farmyard on the farm of my childhood.

Snowdrifts formed at the edge of the yard, next to the grove.

IF YOU HAVE WINTER memories or stories to share, submit a comment to Minnesota Prairie Roots. I’d like to hear yours.

Text © Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Photos © Copyright 2010 Hillary Kletscher

 

Greasy first snow in Faribault November 13, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 5:29 PM
Tags: , , , , , , ,

A city of Faribault snowplow plows the street past my house Saturday morning.

I KNEW IT WAS COMING, “it” being snow. The weather forecasters forecast it. And I really should expect it given this is November already.

Yet, I wasn’t ready to wake up this morning to snow blanketing the ground.

Greasy, heavy, wet snow, slick as Crisco on the driveway and sidewalks and roadways.

Not that I’ve been outside. I haven’t. But my husband told me so. He’s shoveled the driveway. Twice.

I’m content inside the house, catching up on tasks, baking bars, phoning my mom in southwestern Minnesota. She reported little snow at her home in Vesta at mid-morning.

In the Cities, conditions are nasty, according to a text message from my eldest. We had planned to go up there today but quickly canceled that trip. No sense being in the metro during the first snowfall of the season if you don’t need to be there.

Down in La Crosse, my second daughter reported no snow earlier today.

Over in Montgomery and Mankato, 10 inches had already fallen by noon, according to an announcer for the local radio station.

My sister said conditions were horrible over in Waseca. Cars in ditches. Snow still falling.

I wonder every year why I’m never ready for the first snowfall. Years ago, as a child, I welcomed it. Today I just wish it would go away.

The plow clears the side street past my corner house. I had wanted to post some "pretty" snow photos here. But alas, I had no desire to slip and slide and try to keep snowflakes off my camera lens. These two images were shot from inside my snug, warm house.

© Copyright 2010 Audrey Kletscher Helbling